I feel kind of depressed. And I'm going to be self-indulgent and wallow in it a little, so please feel free to skip this post. I don't really know why I'm feeling this way. I'm not super depressed; no need to worry or anything, I just feel really blah. Icky.
I don't feel like I get to spend enough time with my husband. I don't feel like I'm getting as much done as I should. I'm tired of being sleepy all the time. I'm generally annoyed.
When I first quite my job, I thought I'd churn out this book in maybe 3 months. Maybe less. That didn't count on moving, packing, unpacking, throwing out my back, throwing out my leg, being on hardcore medication. But still, I feel like I should be able to get out 3,000 words a day instead of somewhere between 600 - 1200 that I've been getting. After all, I am home. I know I'm doing okay, I just want to do better.
And then I fall asleep.
But mostly I just feel this general malaise. I don't want to deal with any real live people. I'd like to wrap myself and my husband in a cocoon and just burrow for a while in the comfort of it. No sounds but our breathing. No interruptions. No emergencies. Just us and quiet.
Anyway, if you're reading, I told you that you should have ignored this one.